.

"Where--where did it hit you?" he gasped.

"Nemmine anything 'bout where it _hit_ me," the young colored man
returned, dusting his breast and knees as he rose. "I want to know what
kine o' white boys you think you is--man can't walk 'long street 'thout
you blowin' his head off!" He entered the stable and, with an
indignation surely justified, took the pistol from the limp, cold hand
of Penrod. "Whose gun you playin' with? Where you git 'at gun?"

"It's ours," quavered Sam. "It belongs to us."

"Then you' pa ought to be 'rested," said the young colored man. "Lettin'
boys play with gun!" He examined the revolver with an interest in which
there began to appear symptoms of a pleasurable appreciation. "My
goo'ness! Gun like 'iss blow a team o' steers thew a brick house! _Look_
at 'at gun!" With his right hand he twirled it in a manner most
dexterous and surprising; then suddenly he became severe. "You white
boy, listen me!" he said. "Ef I went an did what I _ought_ to did, I'd
march straight out 'iss stable, git a policeman, an' tell him 'rest you
an' take you off to jail. 'At's what you need--blowin' man's head off!
Listen me: I'm goin' take 'iss gun an' th'ow her away where you can't do
no mo' harm with her. I'm goin' take her way off in the woods an' th'ow
her away where can't nobody find her an' go blowin' man's head off with
her. 'At's what I'm goin' do!" And placing the revolver inside his coat
as inconspicuously as possible, he proceeded to the open door and into
the alley, where he turned for a final word. "I let you off 'iss one
time," he said, "but listen me--you listen, white boy: you bet' not tell
you' pa. _I_ ain' goin' tell him, an' _you_ ain' goin' tell him. He want
know where gun gone, you tell him you los' her."

He disappeared rapidly.

Sam Williams, swallowing continuously, presently walked to the alley
door, and remarked in a weak voice, "I'm sick at my stummick." He
paused, then added more decidedly: "I'm goin' home. I guess I've stood
about enough around here for one day!" And bestowing a last glance upon
his friend, who was now sitting dumbly upon the floor in the exact spot
where he had stood to fire the dreadful shot, Sam moved slowly away.

The early shades of autumn evening were falling when Penrod emerged from
the stable; and a better light might have disclosed to a shrewd eye some
indications that here was a boy who had been extremely, if temporarily,
ill. He went to the cistern, and, a